My city, my religion.

Kolkata… the mysterious mistress I fell in love with quite young. Her lakes, her monsoon, her greens have been my childhood friends. As I aged, I understood her pulse better. She is dynamic, moody, gracious and even bat-shit-crazy at times. The breathtaking sunsets over the Octarloni Monument… the Ganges gently touching her curves like a long braid of hair as it flows south, caressing her… the stunning cityscape leaving a trail of gasps for her lovers.

This is where I met yet another mysterious woman- Roshni. Studying together at the University of Calcutta, she and I became friends. Roshni is a brilliant photographer, a book-sniffer, a co-traveller's delight and her chicken recipes are delicious… most of the time. It was quite surprising to find her interested about Kolkata. Why surprising you ask? Well... though the city has a large number of photographers –far too many perhaps– they are more interested in the frames rather than the stories behind them. So it was rather surprising to find a good photographer hungry for stories.
One night, I asked her to come to Tirhetta Bazaar with me. "Eeeeeeee....let's go... yaaayyyy." –she texted, getting an opportunity to 'shoot at will'.
Breakfast at Tirhetta begins early, very early. At 6:30 in the morning, our cab stopped in front of the broad alley that was filled with traders, food stalls, dogs, poultry and the smell of smoked pork. A cute pup sniffed at my toe and Roshni got busy clicking. We moved towards the last stall towards the end of the alley where the road met another at the middle— Aunty ka dukaan. There's no rule to start from here; it was just a matter of choice. Aunty is a Chinese woman- busy, stressed, inquisitive, always calculating, always questioning. Also, she sells heavenly fish momos. For Roshni, it was love at first bite. I chose a fish ball soup. Sadly it wasn’t nearly as good as the momos. We paid 90 bucks and moved on to the next stall. We are a hungry pair, you see. Here we found another woman– not Chinese but probably Bihari judging by her Hindi accent– selling chicken spring rolls, dimsums and fried momos. We tried the rolls. They were awful. The dimsums were cold. It was a sour anti-climax, the opposite of foodgasm... food-nausea?

Roshni was hardly bothered by the taste of the food. She was more interested in the colour patterns and textures of the houses around, the elderly Chinese couple, kids playing with puppies, the toothless old guy asking to get clicked and so on. We moved past the stalls and turned left on the connecting street. Bright-coloured walls, Chinese hoardings, dragon graphitti – it was hard to believe we were still in Kolkata. A girl with a camera and a guy with exploring eyes – this was a rare sight for the local people. Some were friendly; others threw disgusted looks murmuring, "Look at these clowns… fooling around early in the morning." You have to take everything in good sport.

Down the alley, we stopped at a small dusty door. An unassuming noodles factory. Those delicious strands of flour we devour look highly unappetizing when they are first prepared. A large mound of dough is put through a roller much like those sugar cane juice machines to press them out into long sheets. The process is repeated till they are thin enough and then the sheets are cut and shredded to form noodles as we know it. "What do you want?” –asked the thin Chinese lady managing the factory. We intended to ask to click photos and get a story and a guided tour of the factory. Instead I found myself asking "How much for the noodles?" She packed a kg of hot and fresh noodles for Rs 30. Meanwhile, Roshni took photos of the machines, the workers, and the lady– who refused to smile.

It was thirty minutes past eight by my watch. Blame my office hours but we had to call it a day. As we walked past Tiretta Bazaar going towards the Central Avenue we came across a dumping ground or more of a scrap godown. Hundreds of barrels were piled on top of each other on the roadside. The blue barrels formed a phalanx-like shape and in front of it we saw something that we thought were an extinct species– a telephone booth.

If you are an Indian and have grown up before the 'mobile generation', you would be quite familiar with the STD-ISD-PCO-Local telephone booths. As we moved towards the glass windowed dusty box, a head peeped from inside– a boy of about eight. With his bright eyes, brown face and yellow sweater, he made an enthralling frame with the worn-out booth. Roshni found her 'subject of the day'. The boy, patient and calm in front of the two elated clowns, glanced behind us a number of times. I turned around to find a rickshaw-puller with an assuring smile on his face– his father. That smile, that moment made my day.

I have met people who know about Kolkata possibly more than anyone in the city. I have walked with photographers - local and foreign - and seen them take breathtaking shots of the city. I have been asked questions about Kolkata's lifestyle, culture, heritage, history, crisis… its people, places, colours and cacophony. That kid and his father may not remember me now. The daily toil of life would have erased those five minutes from their memory. But the next time someone asks me "What is the best thing about Kolkata?” I know what I will say. Here, a lifetime can be lived in a moment and memories can be found in scraps.